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Manhunt - Part I
The hunt for Farris Wind, culprit behind the explosion in Light's Reach, brings Surrector Gell Mikin to Hawk's Aerie. And then disaster strikes once more... It is the Ninth hour by the Shadow on Riverstretch, the 19th day of Seedwarming in the year 624. It is a temperate night. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. Dark puffy clouds hang low in the sky. Hawk's Aerie (River District) ---- ::The sprawling township of Hawk's Aerie is one of the plushest, wealthiest and most politically important settlements in the realm of Fastheld, poised as it is at the fork of River Road and the Imperial Thoroughfare, with control over the economically vital Fastheld Wharfs and the strategically critical access point of the bridge that spans the Fastheld River to Aegis Road. ::Founded five centuries ago by Edran Nillu, the bustling riverport town has been a primary source of that noble house's cache with the throne on Caryas Hill and the guilds of the Market District, and has enabled the Nillus to establish themselves as an economic powerhouse. ::The streets are kept clean of garbage and filthy peasants as much as possible. The elegant stone and wood buildings are kept in fine repair. It is rumored that the ravens of Hawk's Aerie get their talons polished, morning and night. ---- Gell Mikin steps down from a carriage, then glances around the crossroads of Hawk's Aerie. His eyes narrow and he lifts his face, sniffing as if following the scent of some hunted creature. He brushes the fingers of his left hand against the dried husks of severed fingers dangling around his neck. His right hand drops to a sheath at his side, and he pulls from that sheath a glinting silver bladed-knife. He walks toward a flophouse, where on the stoop of the two-storey building he finds the portly proprietor waiting. They speak quietly, but intently. The innkeeper nods, then leads Gell Mikin into the shadows of the structure. From Wind's saddle, A noblewoman cloaked in white arrives from the east stride Wind, while two Zahir guards pace alongside. Fionnlagh steps down from his own carriage, and moves around behind to untie his horse, leading Firelight towards the stables. He mutters to the horse as he moves along. "What do you think, Firelight? Will the mistress have my leather goods made yet? Worth a chieck, aye? Worth a check." Lord Tor Vozhd Kahar steps down from the carriage he has just arrived in. The lamps mounted on the back of the vehicle light his face as he moves around to untie his horse. He leads the steed away from the carriage, which soon moves off. Mounting the animal, the young Lord turns it to view the square a bit more clearly. Zurhael Zahir walks out of the tavern, flanked on either side by two minions. One is taller than Zurhael and built like the Aegis itself, the other is small and toad-like. Both look like they are the offspring of Shadow District brothel girls. Zurhael mutters something to them, and the three proceed towards the center of the township. From the local blacksmith's shop emerges...the local blacksmith, Barit Smithy, covered in soot and currently looking as if fresh from the forge, his forging apron still secured infront of him. The only things that makes him look /non/ professional is the wicked-looking bearded axe hanging off of his belt, not looking the kind used to chop down trees or hone down chairs. From Newday's saddle, Jurus Seamel rides into the town, glancing about quickly. He pats the beast lightly on the neck, gazing about quickly. A few minutes after Gell Mikin enters the flophouse, there's a rumble of something that might be thunder, followed quickly by a blinding flash of blue light from the upper floor of the lodging as one of the rooms explodes. Shards of glass and burning debris whistle through the crossroads, raining down on anyone unlucky enough to be nearby. People can be heard screaming inside the flophouse, and then the inhabitants who can do so come streaming out, followed by a roiling tongue of black, oily smoke. A carriage pulls into town with a creaking of wooden wheels. Fael Mikin steps down from the carriage, and moves to the back of the vehicle to untie his horses reins. Taking the reins in his left hand he steps away from carriage to allow Vhramis, who steps out of the Carriage behind him to do the same. As the nearby building explodes, Fael ducks behind the carriage, placing it between himself and the blast, while Vhramis dives to the ground next to him. Luckily, both of them manage to avoid the shards of flaming debris caused by the explosion and as the debris settles around them they both quickly move to calm their horses. From Wind's saddle, At the sound of the explosion, Aylora's arm automatically goes up to shield her eyes, while her head ducks down. The noise and falling shards cause Wind to rear back, and she nearly loses her grasp on the reins. She compensates by falling forward, slips from the stirrups and lands hard on the cobblestones with a cry of alarm. Kevares Kahar steps off his carriage just in time to be liberally pelted with glass chunks. Language that might make sailors' ears curdle emerges from his lips as he does his best to cover his chest and face with his hands. "GWAAAIIE!" Little toad guy and the big minion dive out of the way as Zurhael is struck with falling rubble. "Wildling spit!" The Harbormaster falls to the ground with a dull thud, his attempt to shield himself helping little. Firelight rears and screams at the flash of blue light and sound of explosion...an occurence all too familiar to the horse as testified by the long healed gash that runs along most of its side. Fionnlagh turns towards the horse, and cries out as a few of the flying shards pierce his back. A renewed scream from the horse draws his attention there, and he grasps for the reins as he tries to calm the beast, avoiding kicking hooves. "Down, Fire...down! Confound it, not again!" A shrieking figure, engulfed in blue fire and greasy black smoke, leaps from the hole that's been blown in the upper floor of the flophouse, crashing with a crispy, crackling thump on the cobblestones in front of the building. This incites a new round of screaming and shrieking from the fleeing occupants. Tor's back is to the tavern when the explosion happens. His horse nervously trots away from the scene of the explosion. Tor, however, is not so lucky to escape harm. A shard of glass scythes through the air toward the man, jagged and razor sharp. It slices into his neck, becoming embedded there. He grunts softly, in too much pain to utter much else. Bending over in pain, he rolls off the back of his horse, falling with a thud to the ground, his neck slowly becoming covered in blood as he lays there. Newday rears up on his hind legs at the sound of the explosion, Jurus clinging tightly to the reins and keeping his mount, until the horse calms and rests back on all four legs. Just as the rider lets out a breathe of relief, a large chunk of debris falls, denting his helmet and causing him to fall to the ground. He lays in a heap, apparently unconcious. Vhramis looks up from the ground, eyes wide, "Lord Fael?" he shouts as he scrambles to his feet, straining to be heard over the rising din. "Constable, were you hi..." the words fade in his mouth as he watches the burning man fall from the upper floor, "Light..." is all Vhramis manages to mutter, mouth hanging open. Aylora looks to the sky still in slight shock, she rolls over to her side and sees blood on her arms and legs, her clothing torn and tattered. "What," she murmurs. The screams of many voices fill her ears as she attempts to gain her footing. Every nerve of her body screams for her to still, but she reaches up and somehow finds Wind. She rummages quickly through the saddlebags for her healing kit, before slapping the horse toward the stables. Her hand comes away red and she cannot tell if it is her own blood or the horse's. At the explosion, Barit Smithy widens his eyes in surprise and quickly dives behind a nearby water trough infront of his shop. Several shards fly into the trough, causing a bit of water to splash onto the blacksmith, but he is otherwise unscathed. He rises to his feet, brushing himself off as he gazes about the area. To those surviving, he calls aloud, "Someone get the constable, if that wasn't enough to summon'em!" At the figuring jumping out of the building, Barit Smithy begins to slowly edge torward the being, though seems to be in no hurry. Another figure - rather unusually tall - comes barreling out of the lower doorway, spiraled in smoke as he slaps at the blue tendrils of flame that sizzle at his cloak and scorch the dried digits on the necklace against his chest. He reaches up, grabbing the grisly adornment with an unprotected hand, ripping it off and hurling it aside, and then Surrector Gell Mikin flings his burned, soot-smeared self at the street, rolling around to try to extinguish his burning clothes. Zurhael Zahir struggles to his feet and dusts off his clothes. "Hmmph." His minions hurry over towards him. "Very helpful, both of you," he comments, then spots the figure aflame. "What Shadowwork is this?" Kevares Kahar's hands, arms, legs and quite a lot of the rest of him, actually, are now painted in reddish patterns. What a way to ruin good velvet. As it happens, he seems to be falling forward following his body's call and ends up falling quite near Gell Mikin. His voice is ragged as his large frame topples, "Surrector?" Fael Mikin glances over at Vhramis, shaking his head as he does to clear the echoing of the explosion. "What in the Light is going on here?" He says a little more loudly than is perhaps necessary. He looks around the edge of the carriage towards the burning building, then turns his gaze towards the rest of the square. He hesitates for a moment, then his training kicks in. Quickly retying Neider's reins to the back of the carriage, he says to Vhramis, "See what you can do about getting some water for that fire." The excitement of the previous moment is gone from both his voice and expression as he turns towards the square, just in time to miss the arrival of Gell from inside the building. Fael quickly singles out the person who appears most injured and crosses the square towards Tor at a half run. A figure comes running up the street, fighting and shoving against the crowd that presses up in the opposite direction. "Ai!" the young man manages, stopping as his eyes fall upon the chaos ensuing. "Not good! The flames and the fire and Shadow, ayuh!" He immediately starts frantically scanning for familiar faces. Aylora screams at the top of her lungs. "Hawk's Aerie Healers to ME!" She staggers around slightly trying to get her bearings. "Take the injured to the Temple! QUICKLY! Call out if you find injured you dare not move." Seeing the flaming forms emerge from the flophouse, Aylora rushes over to the men. She kneels before Gell Mikin patting what flames remain. She begins to check his wounds. "Can you speak, Surrector," she asks. Tor winces, but bites back the pain. He clutches his hand to his neck, carefully surrounding the wound as best he can, hoping to stop the bleeding. He leans his other hand on his horse. Blinking, the young man seems to be a bit confused, but at least he is no longer just a body on the stones of the square. The panic of Firelight is only somewhat reduced by his rider's attempts, the horse shying nervously from Fionnlagh as he tries to get its reins, backing up and rearing periodically, though the hooves stop kicking out. The horses screams fall to nervous snorts and whinnies as the forester continues to try to calm his horse, ignoring his own wounds. The Surrector gives a dazed look with his one good, open eye - the other is swollen shut and badly burned - at Kevares. He opens his half-burned mouth, but then closes it as Aylora kneels next to him. He tilts his head, trying to focus, narrowing his good eye. His bald head is scorched and welted on one side. His clothes are burned through on his back and left side. He looks in fairly dismal condition. He grabs Aylora's arm with his right arm - the left lies limp at his side, covered with welts and burns. "Farris ..." is all he manages before he passes out on the cobblestones. "Sir!" Vhramis replies, training jumping in as hes given his order, and he looks about the town quickly for some source of water. His eyes land on the Smithy. He runs across the chaos towards it, shouting to Barit as he sees him inching forward, "Master Smith!" he calls, calmy as possible, though the urgency is clear in his voice, "Do you have any water? We need to put these flames out, or at least keep them from taking the entire town." Kevares Kahar does his best to gain his bearings, not yet able to get up, but blinking in the flames to assess the situation. He does manage to reach out to Aylora, tugging at her skirts and points to Tor before making an effort to rise. "Bleeding. Bad..." He manages, slumping back on the cobblestones. "Not much," grunts Barit in reply, jerking a thumb to his shop. "I have a barrel full in the shop in reserve for quenchin', but I'd suggest the town well'd be a better idea. I got two buckets in the shop right now, if there's not one at the well." Zurhael Zahir runs toward the Surrector and Aylora, goons in tow. "Need a little help?" Zurhael inquires to the healer, albeit sardonically. Aylora grimaces as Gell grabs her arm then falls unconscious. Unclasping her cloak, she puts it over the man's body to protect it from shock. "Clean cloths!" she says to a passing servant from the tavern. "Napkins, tablecloths, anything! Quickly." Aylora gently removes what burnt clothing isn't stuck to Gell's skin. She feels a tug on her skirt and she looks down to see a nobleman bleeding. "Easy, easy," she murmurs. She glances back toward the direction of Tor and gasps. She gestures to a nearby guard. "Morn," she says. "Start taking the shards from this man's body. I'll be back." She picks up her bag and painfully makes her way to Tor. "Steady, now, steady...." coaxes the forester, starting to approach the horse yet again. "That's it..." Firelight stops backing away, ears twisting nervously and tossing its head periodically. "Shh..." soothes the forester, reaching out a hand to stroke the horse's cheek gently before taking hold of the reins. Finally calm, Firelight stands still, allowing the forester to lead him. "Come on, now, let's get you to the stables so I can help. There's a good fellow." Silver shod boots make quick work of any burning debris in Fael's path as he crosses the square towards Tor. His slightly confused gaze drifts about the square as he moves, causing him to nearly stumble over a piece of already extinguished timber cast on the ground by the explosion. Upon arriving at Tor's location he sinks into an uncomfortable crouch, "Are you alright, M'Lord?" He asks cautiously, green eyes drifting up and down the man's body looking for secondary injuries. The Harbormaster furrows his brow as he's promptly ignored. "Very well. I'll just stand here then." He glances around. "Where was that other fellow that fell out of the tavern?" From Wildfire's saddle, Jirand Zahir rides in from the west, making towards the stables. He stops however, noticing the commotion and the injured men. A frown creases his normally smiling face and he hangs back at the outskirts of the gathered crowd. It is obvious his services aren't needed and he doesn't wish to hinder anyone in their attempt to help the men. The other fellow - the flophouse proprietor, most likely, judging by the iron key ring smoldering next to him on the cobblestones - appears to be dead. Vhramis nods his head, "Right. Didn't even notice the damn well in all the rush. We'll need those two buckets you have, no doubt. All we can get. Lets em quick." He glances back behind him to give another quick look about the town. Blood drips down Tor's wrist as the man leans ever more heavily on the horse. Luckily for him, the mount remains steady. He blinks as the man speaks to him, a slight smile spreading across the otherwise pained face. "I believe I have been better," he manages to bite out, wincing. "I think this is the only one," he adds, half grunted as he speaks of the glass in his neck. Kevares Kahar does manage, with Morn's help, to sit up so he's not pushing the shards farther into his skin by lying on them and looks about mumbling something that would no doubt make polite ladies blush as he works with the other man to pull shards from his skin, still not quite up to trying to stand yet. Aylora skids to a stop near Tor and begins to examine his wounds. "Hold tight to your neck," she says. "Keep pressure on it. Fael, help him down." She turns in the direction of the Harbormaster, realizing he had spoken to her as she passed. "Excellency! The Surrector spoke a name! Farris, he said. Look to this Farris for answers!" Ellion spots Fionnlagh within the insanity and speeds up towards the man, running in wide circles around him and his horse. "Ai! Ai! You need help? Yes? Yes! What can I do? Ayuh! I am the greatest hunter but the worsest horses, no doubt, yes!" Zurhael Zahir scratches his chin. "Farris, then." He looks around, shouting, "Farris? Hello?! Farris! I'm looking for a man by the name of Farris!" He walks around the center of the township. "Faaaarriiiiis!" "Aye-aye," Barit tells Vhramis with a firm nod, now lumbering off torward his shop again to open the door and step inside. Vhramis chases after Barit into the shop. One of the flophouse denizens, a crouched-over woman in a shawl, her face smeared with soot, her voice wracked now and again by coughing, walks over to Zurhael from the ruins of the lodging. "M'lord, ah think he's dead." Fionnlagh grunts as Ellion runs up, and turns slightly on his heel to keep track of the circling fellow. "Ellion....you do seem to turn up when needed. He winces as he twists just a bit too far, handing the reins of the horse to a stableboy. "Mind his side...I think he took a shard or two." That said, he turns his back to Ellion. "See...if you can pull the shards out. I think one or two got through the armor here or there." Feeling a wetness against his left ear, he reaches his hand up to find a bit of blood trickling from a spot cut by a shard in passing. Zurhael Zahir looks down at the woman, nose crinkling disdainfully. "I see. Can you direct me to the body?" Fael Mikin nods to the Healer, and places his left arm under the arms of the injured nobleman. He then slowly and as gently as possible helps the nobleman to the ground so that the Healer can deal with the wound more easily. He frowns thoughtfully at the mention of the name "Farris", but has more important things on his mind for the moment. "Do you have things under control here, M'lady?", he asks anxiously, his gaze drifting towards those moving to combat the fire. Tor nods lightly at the Zahir woman, recognizing her tone and manner to be that of a healer. Blood still flows down his arm, staining the velvet dark crimson. It seems to have slowed slightly, perhaps a sign that the wound is not as bad as it could have been. He allows himself to be lowered by Fael, not offering any protest. "Shards?" Ellion's eyes grow wide once he stops to listen. "Inside you? I will pull them out, no doubt! Yes! Ha! Ayuh. Where? Where? In the horse? The horse is not important! You are bleeding, ayuh, that I see with my own eyes that are in my face that is part of my head, I do vow! You need a healer! Yes!" He starts looking around the area. "HEALER! HEALER! A healer, yes, yes!" The woman points up at the burning ruin of the second floor. "He stayed right up 'ere. Second floor. They was goin' up to talk to 'im, they were. An' ye see what happened." She sighs sadly, tugging at her shawl as she looks toward the corpse of the proprietor. "Farris seemed such a nice young man. Always a kind word for me, y'see, and helped me up and down the stairs." Vhramis promptly steps out of the Pounding Rain carrying two buckets. He quickly moves over to a stunned observer, shoving the bucket into his hands, "Come with me, we have to deal with this fire." he says, dragging him along with him towards the well. From Wildfire's saddle, Jirand Zahir has disconnected. Zurhael Zahir looks in the direction that the woman points. "He did this, then. And you're sure he's dead?" "I need clean water, Fael," she says. "And tell me who else needs tending." She turns toward Tor. "Alright now, let go, let me see it. She takes a clean cloth from her bag and has it in the ready. As he moves his hand away, she draws in a sharp gasp of air, then plucks the glass shard out. She presses the clean cloth to the wound and throws the shard away. "Hold that, m'lord," she says. "I'll have to stitch it closed." She hastily wipes her bloodied hands on her apron, and takes out thread and a needle from a pouch. "Lay back on my lap, wound up, m'lord. This will likely sting." The woman shrugs, pulling at her shawl again with wrinkled fingers. "All I know is 'e didn't come out," she says. "Not that I saw." Zurhael Zahir nods slowly. "Light keep," he says before running towards those putting out the fire. "The man that did this might still be upstairs!" he yells. His guards help drag wounded people out of the way. Tor tenses his jaw as he does what he is told, removing his blood covered hand from his neck, revealing the jagged wound and shard of glass. Nodding weakly, he lowers himself onto her lap with the right side of his neck made as acessable as he can. He seems well enough able to cope with the pain. "Just pull the shard out, Ellion..." instructs the forester, raising his voice to be heard over the man's shouting. "Right above the shoulder blade. It's scratching me something fierce. I've gotten worse from bushdragons, and the healers have their hands full with the worst wounds." He groans, probing the head wound, and mutters. "Shoulda gone hunting...safer that way." The scorched wreckage of the flophouse collapses, sending out another coughing billow of blue flame and smoke. The crowd falls back a little further, gasping. The woman in the shawl turns toward the noise, watching Zurhael and the others as she calls, "Ah think he's dead, m'lord!" Vhramis and his drafted firefighter rush over to the well, quickly filling the buckets and starting over towards the building with the daunting task of getting the blaze under control. As they approach, Vhramis turns his head to Zurhael's warnings, "Hes still up there? Light..." He turns about to his increasingly hesitant partner and growls at the man, "Come on then." They take a few steps closer, then ground to a halt as the building collapses. "Hes not surviving that..." He and his man dump the buckets of water, then turn about to get more from the well. Ellion's mouth works soundlessly as he approaches Fionnlagh, taking a position behind him. "Ayuh," he whispers, nodding several times as he reaches for the shard sticking out of the forester's shoulder. "Hunting is best, yes. Yes!" He takes the jutting object between two fingers, presses hard and sighs. "Bite your tongue. This will hurt something fierce, ha." He starts yanking. Hard. Fael Mikin nods to the healer then, places his gauntleted hand on his knees for a moment as he glances around him. "Most of the others appear to be less seriously injured, M'Lady. They are all up and moving about at least." Standing upright he adds, "I will attempt to find some water for you." Turning away from the injured nobleman he begins to stride towards the well. As Vhramis and the other move to start putting out the flames, Barit takes interest in the conversation between Zurhael and the old woman. He stands near her, scratching at his chin. "Sounds like a booby-trap to me," he speaks out of nowhere, squinting over to Zurhael, calling, "Doubt he's up there, M'lord!" Aylora deftly stitches the wound closed with small stitches, close together in the hopes that the wound will heal clean. Her ministrations done, she wipes the blood away as best she can, then wraps a clean cloth around his neck. "If you can manage to stand, m'lord," she says. "Go to the temple. I'll have to clean that wound again once I get fresh water. I need to see about the other wounded first though." Vhramis looks about to the crowd as he and the other man rush back to the well, "Damn it," he calls to the idle crowd, "Grab some buckets, pots, anything that can hold water, and help us put this out!" Jurus Seamel coughs, as he stirs, pulling off the helm with the large dent in it. There is a small stream of blood running from a small scrape on his head, and he shakes his head, slowly. "Damn." He mutters, as he looks about for his horse, which has wandered off. Tor shudders slightly as he struggles back to a sitting position. Despite the stitches, his complexion seems to have paled quite a bit since his arrival. He shakes his head carefully. "I am sorry, but I do not think I can make it up at the moment.." It looks like he hates to appear weak. Zurhael Zahir shakes his head as the building collapses. "Shadow or not, I doubt he could survive that." He calls out to the crowd after hearing Vhramis, "You heard him, you sniveling whelps! To work!" He folds his arms over his chest. "The audacity of these vermin," he mutters to himself. Fionnlagh slides the hunting knife from its sheath as Ellion warns him of the impending pain, quickly stuffing the leather-bound grip between his teeth. He hisses and groans, eyes squeezing shut as Ellion begins to pull the shard out. "I don't think he's dead at all," grumps a middle-aged man lingering by the well, arms crossed as he stares at the wreckage of the flophouse. Aylora braces the man with a free arm. "Easy, m'lord," she says gently. "No hurry. You've lost much blood. Stay here and rest, come to the temple when you can. If I don't see you, I'll come back to fetch you." She painfully stands, and starts back toward Gell Mikin and the other wounded man. She looks up as the building collapses, putting an arm up to shield her eyes. She hurries as the dust settles, checking Gell first. Zurhael Zahir looks over at the man by the well. "What do you *mean*, you don't think he's dead?" Zurhael approaches the man, looking him up and down. "What's your name, man?" Ellion's face is red, his teeth gritted, his eyes focused. He continues to pull, watching the object slide slowly out of the shoulder. "Coming... coming..." He groans from the excertion of strength until, eventually, it pops out, the force sending the young hunter down the ground. "Ayuh! OUT! No more! Gone! The shard that was in your arm that is part of your body, yes. Yes!" Standing up rather quickly, he shows the blood-stained piece to the forester. "Big one, ha!" Fael strides towards the well, until he spots a peasant carrying a pot of water towards the burning building. "You!", he calls out brusquely, placing his gauntleted hand on the man's arm and almost causing him to jump out of his skin. "I need that water", he says simply and reaches out with his right hand to grip the pot and pull it quickly from the peasant's grasp. Glancing back towards the fallen nobleman, he adds, "Come and ensure that this man's horse is taken care of." He then strides quickly back towards the nobleman, the peasant slinking along behind him like a whipped dog. Vhramis looks about him as gradually more of the crowd comes to dump empty containers about the well and join him and his partner. "Right!" he shouts to the crowd, "We're going to line up and pass the full buckets towards the building, and the empty buckets back to the well! Move!" He starts passing the full containers down to the man next to him, a rough line of people forming to put a steady flow of water on the building. The man near the well nods to Zurhael Zahir. "Bannis Stone, and I was Pender Shore's assistant." He points at the charred ruin of the proprietor on the street in front of the wrecked building. "That's Pender." He then coughs, putting a soot-smeared hand to his mouth before going on. "I saw that boy run down ahead of everyone else, right after the explosion. Then there was smoke between us, and when I ran through it, meaning to take his evil carcass down, he was gone." As Aylora passes Fael, she says. "Take him to the Temple with the water. I'll join you soon." Fionnlagh bites down hard on the grip in his teeth, a strangled cry escaping around the knife hilt as Ellion finally draws it free. He groans, and turns to look, ducking his head and closing his eyes tight for a moment. Then he opens them again. "Thank you, Ellion." He looks about, and motions Ellion's attention towards Aylora. "The Zahiress in white....see if she needs your help next. I'll be alright. Tell her Fionnlagh is wounded but not as bad as others. Will need her when the worst are cared for." Ellion nods a few times in response and scampers away from the forester, searching for the woman in white, once more finding himself lost within the crowd. The Surrector remains where he collapsed on the cobblestones, burned and unconscious. But he's still breathing. "Hmm." Zurhael furrows his brow again. "Which direction did he go?" A carriage pulls into the township, lit in amber by the flaming building. The driver climbs down and opens the door quickly. A Shadowscourge, fully armored in the traditional plates and ringmail of the Order, steps out and pays the driver, who promptly sets off. The Scourge takes only seconds to survey the scene before jogging over to the commotion. Tor waves the man away as he sees him approach with water. "No, use it for the fire, or for another of the wounded. For now, I don't believe I need it." He winces as he struggles back to his feet, swaying slightly, and finally leaning on an abandoned vendors cart. "But do please see to my horse," he adds to the peasent. He reagards Fael for a moment, nodding to the man. "I thank you for your assistance." Billows of smoke and steam from the fire bring Mythrae Lomasa running somewhat belatedly down the street, still tightening her belt and adjusting her tunic around the neckline. Her hair thumps against her back in rhythm with her running steps until she comes to a halt near the crowd. She stands there for a minute gazing around, her hand going to her swordhilt and then lifting away. "As I said," Barit tells Zurhael and the man, nearing the well himself. "Booby-trap. I bet, Surrector was comin' for'em, and he rigged somethin' up in there. Sure don't know how the shadow he'd manage that, tho'. Certainly the damn biggest explosion I've ever seen." "You think I'd be standing here like a lummox if I had a clue which way he went, m'lord?" Bannis Stone asks before waving a hand at Zurhael. "Sorry, m'lord. Not your fault." Jurus Seamel tucks the battered helm into Newday's saddlebag, before giving the horse a quick once over. He winces, as he runs his gauntleted fingers along a few small burns. He then ties the horse to a post, before moving quickly off to see how best he can help. Vhramis, satisfied that the impromptu fire-squad can now continue the job themselves, steps away with urges to continue until the fire is properly put out. He glances about the crowds, seeing where else he can help, before heading back over to Zurhael and Barit. "I'd try to track him, but I doubt i'd be able to do anything in this mess," he commends offhandly. Aylora, seeing her cloak has kept the second wave of falling debris from Gell's wounds, sighs and starts to minister to the other man who has also evidently fallen unconscious. Beads of sweat start to fall down her face as she grimaces, stitching and bandaging wounds as quickly as she can. Zurhael Zahir nods at Bannis, too distracted to respond to the man's brusque comment. "Light keep, Master Stone." He looks toward Barit. "I know of no one who could manage such an explosion. This is obviously work of Shadow. After the wounded are tended to and the fire is quenched, we'll organize a search for him. I don't think he could've gotten too far." Fionnlagh looks around the area once his breathing has become less ragged, and does the one thing nobody really wants to do. He moves towards a Shadowscourge...and even seeks its attention. Heading straight for Halod, he calls out, "Ho, Sis..." a correction as he looks again. "Ho, Brother! None too soon. The Shadow's been at work here!" Fael Mikin nods silently to the healer, then motions towards the nobleman's horse with his free left hand. The conscripted peasant darts forward to take the horse by the reins and keep it away from the prone form of its master. "Take it to the stables", Fael says simply, turning his attention to Tor once again. He hands the pot of water to a nearby, smoke covered citizen as he crouches. "Bring that with me to the Temple", he says as he carefully props the injured man up then places one arm behind his back and under under his knees and carefully stands upright. Mythrae Lomasa's first steps were towards Vhramis, whose purposeful activity caught her eye. When she hears the wounded Fionnlagh call out, though, and spots the Shadowscourge, she changes her pace abruptly to make for those two. "What's about?" she calls. She, at least, has no compunction about approaching the holy knight. "In the Light, my friend," the Shadowscourge says quickly to Fionnlagh as he steps up to the man, raising a gauntlet in greeting. "I am Brother Halod Swale, one of the Light's own. Tell me, as quickly as you can, what has happened here." "What do you mean *gone*?!" a merchant snarls at the stableboy. "I didn't come back for him until now. Did you give my horse to some wayward peasant?" The stableboy flinches, then says, "A thousand pardons, m'lord, but ... I was out here, lookin' at the commotion, I didn't notice ... I'm oh so sorry, m'lord. Please don't tell my master. I'm sure we can find the horse. Just wandered out the back, most like." Tor moves with Fael, leaning heavily on the man for support. The gaurdsman seems somewhat unhappy at having to reley on someone else to carry him, but apparentlyhe accepts it well enough. He stays silent, attempting to cope with the pain. Kevares Kahar rouses to look up into Aylora's eyes as she bandages him. His lips curl up into a smile betwixt his goatee. "Beautiful," he whispers before slipping back into unconsciousness. Fionnlagh nods to the Shadowscourge, wincing as a gesture towards the collapsed structure moves his injured shoulder. A little blood still trickles down past his left ear, mostly unheeded now. "An explosion, Brother....and no ordinary one. I was in Light's Reach when the statue of the Zahir exploded....this was the same, a thunder crack and blue light and flame. I know no more than that of yet." "Probably was caused by Shadow-means, but I'm sure somethin' like that is the work of a master alchemist," Barit tells Zurhael with a sure nod. This looks promising to Mythrae Lomasa, who stops at the grouping of Scourge and Fionnlagh with her hands behind her back. "Shadow?" she asks quickly at the description. Her hand touches her swordhilt again. Jurus Seamel moves up to join Fion's group, resting one hand on his sabre hilt. "If we could find any sign, I'd say that we should mount a search... He can't have made it far, after all." He glances sidewards at the Scourge. "Can he?" Fael Mikin takes a hesitant step forward, taking care not to allow the weight of the other man overbalance him too much. He moves slowly but steadily towards the Temple, checking over his shoulder from moment to moment in order to ensure that the waterbearer is pacing him, and to keep tabs on the situation unfolding behind him. Vhramis turns his head towards the stables. "A horse?" he says out loud. "Thats a start..." He pushes over to the stables, interuppting the irate merchant and apologetic stableboy. "What did your horse look like? What kind was it?" He doesn't waste time before launching his questions at the merchant. Tor continues to wince a bit with every step, but with his neck stiched the bleeded has stopped and he seems to be in a bit less pain. This is probably because the absense of the glass in his neck. He slowly keeps pace with Fael, moving into the temple at last. Finally finished with her stitching, Aylora looks up and searches for her guards. "Mord! Alden!" she calls. "Get a stretcher for the Surrector. We've got to move him inside the temple. This man too." She glances up and sees the Light's own talking with the others. She blanches slightly, and looks to other wounded. She sees healers guiding others to the temple just as she ordered, each familiar to her since the Wildling Attack. As she rests her body starts to remind her that she is also wounded and tearing her sleeves away in frustration, she begins to check herself over. "He's brown, with a black mane and a white starburst on his muzzle, just between the nostrils," the merchant says, turning to scowl at Vhramis. "Why? Did you take him?" About this time, a horse matching that description comes walking casually around the corner of the barn, bumping the merchant's shoulder with his snout. The merchant turns and grins at the horse. "Ah, there you are, Lexis." He waggles a finger at the stableboy. "Count yourself lucky, lad." Fionnlagh blinks at Mythrae's hand on her sword, then again at the emblem on her tunic. "A Scourge? No, no in that. Sunkissed, then?" He doesn't really seem quite aware he's mused aloud, inclining his head respectfully to the noblewoman. "Aye, my lady, I do not doubt it. It is the same as that which tore the statue, and nearly killed myself and others. That was judged Shadow's work. Some courier or some such the rumors said." When Jurus speaks, Mythrae's fingers firm around her swordhilt. The bard frowns. "He? This is no accident, you say?" she asks of the Seamel. She only smiles at Fionnlagh politely, and then her eyes flick to Halod. She waits. Zurhael Zahir looks around. "Master Smithy," he calls to Barit, "Gather those who are able and bring them to me. This man will not escape, Shadow or not." Kevares Kahar's body is fairly solid but two men do manage to move him toward the temple. He rouses as he is moved, looking toward Aylora. "Come?" It is a brief command, perhaps too cryptic to be understood, but is definitely directed toward Aylora. One of the men, noting the Kahar crests on Kevares' doublet nods toward Aylora. "Ye'd best come too, M'lady." Halod Swale's helmet tilts to Mythrae for only a brief second before returning to Fionnlagh. One of his hands rests absently upon the whip that hangs from his belt. "If this is the work of the Shadow," he says after a moment, "then the culprit could be very far away, but more likely, he or she is close. Does anyone have a description?" Vhramis growls briefly in frustration at the merchant, "Nothing. My mistake," is all he says before he looks back about the town. He returns to the line of firemen, shouting some more encouragement, "Good work! Looks like that fire is almost out." Jurus Seamel taps the trickle of blood running from the cut on his head. "I don't know, for sure... I've been unconcious, and was jsut going on what I've heard since coming too...." His gaze flicks off, briefly, to watch Aylora do her work, before returning to those immediately present. Other helping hands lend their effort to carefully picking up the badly burned Surrector, still wrapped in Aylora's cloak and still mercifully unconscious as they carry him toward the temple. Hawk's Aerie Temple (River District) ---- ::The solemn shadows of the Church of True Light temple are kept at bay by the soft glow of oil lanterns that flicker and gleam in iron frames attached to the walls of quarried gray stone. ::Parishioners enter through an arched doorway from the Hawk's Aerie Crossroads, passing tapestries of blue, green and yellow velvet on their way to the biinwood columns that flank the aisle that leads into the main worship chamber. Within that chamber are twelve pews, six on each side of the aisle. ::The aisle ends at an open area for the temple leader to give his condemnations of the Shadow and his praise for the Light. ---- The moans of wounded and dying can be heard as Aylora enters the Temple. "Too soon," she whispers. "Too soon I return here." She sets her bag down, removes her soiled apron and walks to a font where she cleans her hands. A nearby citizen gasps at her heresy, but the other healers familiar with the need for cleanliness, begin setting up a station where they can all wash. "Place the Surrector near the altar where it's clearest. Clean cloths Gian." She rinses her hands then puts on a clean apron from her bag. Carefull she pulls her cloak away from Gell's body and begins the tedious tasks of separating flesh from burnt cloth. Fael Mikin crosses the threshold of the temple, The body of Tor cradled carefully in his arms. He pauses for a moment to find a suitable place to release his burden, then steps forward and gently lowers Tor onto a nearby bench. Motioning quickly to the man following him, he takes the container of water and offers the injured man a drink. Kevares Kahar rouses once again, this time moaning low. It's an unholy sound, something a human should never make. Gell Mikin remains unconscious, breathing raggedly. Sirene walks into the temple carrying her healer's kit. Seeing Aylora, her brow furrows. "Cousin. You're hurt." Fael Mikin raises the pot and attempts to pour a small amount onto the injured nobleman's lips, unfortunately he spills more on the man's face than in his mouth, but such is life. Cursing softly under his breath he lowers the metal pot, and continues to gaze at Tor's pained expression for an instant before straightening and motioning for the man who accompanied him to leave. He glances around the room and notices the presence of several healers so he turns towards the entrance. Coughing a couple of times he says, "I will leave these ones in your care", then bows at the waist towards the Noblewomen and leaves the temple calling, "Light Guide", over his shoulder as he does. Aylora continues to carefully separate the burnt clothing from the man's body, until he is nearly naked. She then takes a scalpel from her bag to begin removing the various leather goods from his body. She barely glances up as she hears someone approach. "Infection will set in if we don't clean these wounds," she murmurs. Kevares Kahar remains semi-conscious. "Aloe for the welts and blisters," she says. "But none for the open wounds. We'll need to keep them as dry as possible." She focuses on a particularly stubborn piece of leather on Gell's hand. After removing it carefully, she settles back on her haunches and regards the healer beside her. "I am very glad you are here," she says. Sirene nods and pulls some supplies, gauze, aloe, scissors and the like from her bag to help clean and dress the wounds. She smiles some at Aylora, "I'm...surprised to hear you say that, but glad. You're...your a Zahir aren't you?" She turns as a man behind her taps her shoulder and then nods to him, handing him some bandages from her healer's kit. Fionnlagh catches the doorframe slightly as he enters the temple, shaking his head a bit. Blood has dried on the left side of his head from a scratch above his ear that no longer bleeds. But a second deeper wound just above his left shoulderblade still trickles blood from outside his view. Not life-threatening, certainly, but it is this that causes him to find himself weaker than he expected, gathering his strength and then moving in. Ice blue eyes roam those nearby, before settling on Aylora. "My lady..." he murmurs quietly, starting her way at a slightly unsteady pace. "if the worst are tended?" He doesn't finish the sentence, but neither is he weak enough to fall, simply letting his condition speak for itself. Aylora nods. "Of Brambletone," she replies. She glances up as a familiar figure hovers near the door. She looks down at the Surrector and bites her lip. "Can you continue with him while I check on Master Fionnlagh?" She stands and heads toward the forester. "Master, here, come sit on this bench." She washes her hands once more, and take out thread and needle. She passes the needle through a flame and prepares the care for the wound. Sirene nods and does as Aylora has instructed, pulling charred leather from Gell's wounds and doing her best to clean his wounds. Fionnlagh nods to Aylora, turning his gaze to the bench she indicates, and making his way there with a faintly lightheaded movement, sitting down a bit hard. "Lost a little more blood than I thought...first Light's Reach and now this." Aylora takes a pair of scissors and cuts Fionn's shirt open. Her eyes narrow as she carefully cleans the wound then begins to stitch as quickly and painlessly as possible. Her hands are deft and there will likely be little or no scar to speak of. "Hawk's Aerie has also had its trials, eh?" she says. "First WIldlings now blue lightening." She shakes her head. Sirene hums to herself as she tends to the crispy Surrector, taking on the painful task of scrubbing his open wounds clean. She motions to some of those helping out and uses the water they've been boiling to continue cleaning his wounds. The action is not helping him regain consciousness, no doubt, but as unpleasant as it is, it must be done. Fionnlagh nods quietly, wincing as Aylora works, and shakes his head slowly and carefully. "I've seen this before....Light's Reach. That blue lightning and explosion. Same thing happened when the statue of Zolor's son exploded. I was there. Rowena...the Duchess....nearly died. So did Firelight. A number of the workers were killed. Your sister was there....helped save Firelight and I both. You'd have been proud, my lady." To an extent, the forester is babbling, perhaps from the lightheadedness of the blood loss. "I'm glad you were here." he adds. "And Ellion....he was in Light's Reach too. Light seems to plant him where he's most useful, addled brain and all. He pulled the shard out of my back....nasty thing..." Aylora nods. "I heard the stories, Master," she replies finishing the last stitch then slathering a generous amount of protective salve over the wound. "Ellion does manage to be in the most interesting places at the most interesting times." She begins wrapping the shoulder carefully. "When did you last eat? You'll need your strength." A servant brings ale for the man to drink. Sirene does what she can with Gell to make him comfortable and then moves over to help others, looking up curiously at Fionnlagh and Aylora. She remains silent, however, just observing between tending wounds. Fionnlagh nods slightly, wincing a bit and then relaxing as Aylora slathers the salve over the wound. "Head too, though I don't think it's deep." he offers, as if the dried blood leading from the wound down his neck were not enough to display that fact. His stomach rumbles on cue, and he shakes his head carefully. "Not for several hours...I came straight here from the auctions....was going to see if Mistress Woodsong had my orders before I headed home....then this." Sirene stands and looks around at the now mostly resting wounded. "Should I go to the tavern and fetch something more substantial? Ale might not be the best thing on an empty stomach..." she notes quietly. Aylora looks over to the noblewoman. "That would be most appreciated," she says with a wan smile. "I've not eaten much myself today. Thank you." Aylora takes a damp cloth to Fionlagh's head wound. "Yes, it doesn't look like it needs stitches." Cleaning the blood from his skin, she applies more salve on his wound. "I came through town to check on the Aerie Height's folk. I didn't expect they would need me again so soon. Do you know this Farris the Surrector spoke of?" She glances at Sirene. "Either of you? He is unfamiliar to me." Sirene shakes her head and curtsies before heading out. Fionnlagh keeps his head still, but murmurs answer quietly. "No, my lady....but I have heard the name. A courier....it is said he was responsible for the statue. I know no more than this. But the naming of him was part of the reducing of tension between your house and Mikin." Sirene smiles as she walks into the temple with a tray in her hands. It looks as if she's brought apple ale and boar for the pair. Aylora nods, then puts her tools away before sitting heavily on the bench next to him. She leans forward and places her head on the pew in front of her, the adrenaline from the explosion finally ebbing away. She seems to shrink as a tiredness and the bloodloss she's experienced show themselves more fully. She remains conscious, but definitely not as she was a few moments ago. Fionnlagh tenatively reaches his hand, a careful movement with his shoulder, to lay it gently on Aylora's shoulder. "You should rest too, my lady. The wounded are well in hand now." He looks up as Sirene arrives, and inclines his head. "My thanks to you...might I iniquire your name, that I might know who I thank?" A scarlet flush moves up Sirene's cheeks and she nods, handing the food and drink to the pair. "My name, sir? Sirene Cherryblossom, formerly Zahir." Her eyes flutter up to look at Aylora, gauging her reaction to this information before she says softly, "We need to get these wounds tended to." Looking around she notes, "Perhaps somewhere more private?" Aylora turns her head as the name of Zahir is mentioned. "Indeed, M'lady?" she says. "Well met. I am Aylora. She sighs and sits up once more. "I've taken the worst shards from my arms and legs. I don't have any that need stitching I think. I'll just need new clothing eventually. She reaches over and takes the food Sirene has brought. "Thank you. You're most kind. This is Master Kenneth Fionnlagh of LIght's Reach, Sirene." She takes a sip of ale then a bit of the boar. Fionnlagh blinks at the two words 'formerly Zahir', caught off guard by them. He hesitates, then states simply. "Well met, Sirene Cherryblossom. I will not ask anything you do not wish to speak." He too takes a bit of the food, eating carefully. Sirene nods softly and stands, curtseying. "Well met Master Fionnlagh, M'lady." She looks around. "I think my work here is done. I should be getting back to Vozhdya before the baron misses me." She nods to the pair and then to Vhramis as he enters, "By your leave, M'lady." Vhramis steps lightly into the temple, cloak wrapped about him tightly. His face is smudged lightly with soot from his efforts at fighting the fire earlier, and efforts to wipe it off have gone mostly in vain. He turns behind him after a brief nod to Sirene, looking to the door. Dalayna walks quickly in through the door, her blue eyes wide and vibrant against her colourless dress. The young girl automatically reverences once she realizes who are present and stays low. Fionnlagh lifts an eyebrow faintly at the word. "Baron?" He shakes his head slightly then, perhaps shushing himself from what might not be an inquisition she wishes. He's seated on a bench beside Aylora, both looking worse for wear, his shoulder bandaged. As he notes Vhramis, he lifts a hand faintly. "Eve, Castellan. Unwounded, I hope?" Aylora smiles wanly. "Light guide and protect you, Sirene," she says. "I am often in Vozhdya, so perhaps I will see you again soon." She takes another sip of her ale and looks over as more people arrive. Sirene nods to Aylora, smiling. "That would be nice. I'm just getting set up with a homestead there." And with that, she leaves. Vhramis raises a hand to Fionnlagh in greeting, "Hail, Forester. Fortunately, yes, unwounded, though I'm sure I'll be tasting smoke for a few days." His eyes fall to his shoulder and he winces sympathetically before looking to Aylora. He bows low to her, "Eve, Lady. We are lucky you were here tonight. I brought with me my friend Dalayna here." he turns and gestures to the girl behind him, "She is also a healer, and I thought perhaps she may be able to help some, if there is anymore help needed. Thayndor Zahir passes into the Temple a few moments after Aylora and Vhramis, his cloak billowing out behind him. Aylora straightens, her reserve energies kicking back in despite her many surface wounds. "I know Dalayna," she says as brightly as she can. "Thank you for coming. We have tended to the gravest. Many will return home tonight, but I will stay with the Surrector until he is well enough to return to the palace." She nods to Thayndor as he enters. "Good eve, cousin." Fionnlagh offers Dalayna a gentle smile. "Good eve again, Miss Dalayna. It is good to see you." He pauses, then looks to Aylora a moment. "I should be getting home...I'll not be drawing bow till this shoulder is healed. And the Sunkissed have the matter in hand, doubtless. Are you sure you should stay, my lady? There are healers enough to tend the wounded, and you are weak yourself. It were well if you recupperate a little before the Lioness sees you in such state. You would be welcome at Forestwatch." Dalayna smiles gently at Aylora, though it fades quickly. "I can take over my Lady, I am sorry I was unable to come sooner." Thayndor Zahir bows slightly to Aylora. "Good eve, cousin," he repeats. "And Dalayna. You wish to remain here, in Hawk's Aerie, and assist at the temple awhile I take it?" Vhramis smiles lightly at Dalayna, then looks to Fionnlagh, "If you need help, I could aid your trip back. No trouble, friend." Aylora glances at the Surrector and nods hesistantly. "You are right, Master," she says. "Tomassa will be quite upset at seeing me such. Thank you for your invitation. I don't think either of us should be alone until we are both better." She stands and begins to gather her things. "Dalayna, the Surrector's burns are serious. We've cleaned them and applied salve. You'll need to try to get water in him often as possible. Thank you for staying." Dalayna nods at Thayndor. "Aye my Lord." She listens to the directions looking over the Surrector and nodding slightly as she listens. "Just water or are we attempting other liquids also?" Thayndor Zahir shakes his head. "Allow me to spare you a long ride on horseback, cousin," he says immediately, glancing to Fionnlagh. "As I recall you have wanted to come to Darkwater for some time, and it is a short journey upriver. I will be coming and going from Hawk's Aerie frequently, and when you feel up to it, you may return with me." Fionnlagh draws himself to his feet as Aylora agrees, nodding quietly. "And the boy will doubtless be glad to see you." He laughs softly. "And the Duchess glad not to have to be the one to patch me up again." He quiets as Thanydor offers an alternative, however, placing a hand on the pew before him to steady himself as he waits, a quick glance acknowledging Vhramis' offer, though he waits for Aylora's decision first. Thayndor Zahir eyes Fionnlagh warily. At length, he adds, "I expect the Deepers could clear a bunk for the Forester, as well, although I'd have to caution them not to drink him to destruction in his weakened state." The young noble smiles thinly. Aylora glances at the two men, tired but clearly surprised by all the attention. "I have wanted to visit you, cousin," she says. "And if you are willing to accompany me, Master, I would feel much better if you were near a healer during these critical next few days." She glances at the Surrector. "Shall we gentlemen? Thank you Vhramis for bringing Dalayna." Fionnlagh studies Thanydor a moment, then smiles faintly. "Simple enough, my lord. They can't drink under a man who doesn't drink." He turns attention to Aylora, and inclines his head politely. "As you wish, my lady. I will gladly accompany you." He glances to Thanydor again. "I hope your Deepers still believe in horses, my lord. I'll need a place to stable mine. He was wounded in the blast, but not seriously." Vhramis nods his head to Aylora, bowing again. "Of course, Lady. Thank you for all you've done this night, as well. Many are in your debt." He turns and nods with a grin to Fionnlagh, "Recover well, friend. I'll hold you to that hunt." He turns to Dalayna and grins to her, "The cooks in the kitchen at Wedgecrest Falls have been asking about you, Dalayna. They say to visit soon." He turns last to Thayndor, bowing to the Count. "Your Grace." With that he turns and steps out. Dalayna starts looking at the unconcious Gell and begins pulling things out of her pouches and setting them down, unceremoniously dumping a pile of cloaks on a bench. She starts then, "uhh, my Lord Thayndor, your cloaks are ready. . ." before turning back to her pouches. Thayndor Zahir nods. "Many of the Deepers are as distrustful of horses as Dalayna is of the water," he admits. "I keep a stable at Darkwater, if you wish your horse to be nearby, but it may be a better idea to leave him here in the hands of a skilled healer of beasts." He smiles at Aylora, brushing his cloak back to fall better on his shoulders. "Let us be off, then ... and ... yes, yes I see they are. What splendid timing," he quips drily, approaching the healer to collect these cloaks. "Remember to keep one for yourself." Jirand Zahir walks in quietly and scans the room. He walks over to stand next to Thayndor, offering a bow to the Count. "I have the leathers, your grace. We'll be ready to go in the morning. Can I be of any help in here in the meantime?" He looks concernedly at Gell. Dalayna begins pulling out small bags and placing pinches of powder in her drinking vessel. As she pulls out one bag she raises her eyebrows at it and wrinkles her nose. After lifting it up and down a few times she opens it and looks inside. A smile briefly passes across her face before she turns and hands it to Thayndor. "Forgive me, I'd almost forgotten my lord. Your change. If you need a detailed list of expenses you'll have to wait till I remember to aquire a pen. Aylora watches as the young woman unpacks cloak after cloak. The Contessa seems thin and small, her skirt torn and her sleeves missing. Her skin is marred by dozens of cuts and bruises from the explosions that day. Her face is marred with soot and sweat, though she still wears her chainmail hood and mantle. Likely the only reason why she is not more badly hurt. She gingerly shoulders her bags and begins to leave the temple. "Dalayna will be taking care of the Surrector, m'lord," she says tiredly. "There is nothing more we can do." She glances at the quiet forms of the two Kahar Lords they have almost forgotten. "Ah Dalayna, these young man is also hurt, but more from blood loss. They should awaken just fine in the morn." Fionnlagh considers Thayndor's words, and smiles slightly. "I think he'll be happier with me close. He's strong enough for the journey." He shifts around to Aylora's other side as she heads for the exit, reaching out his good hand. "Let me carry some of that, my lady. I've one good shoulder, and you've got neither." Dalayna nods, glancing over at the sleeping men and pulling a few more pouches out and setting them to the side "Aye my Lady, I'll keep an eye on them also". She briefly stops to check the unconsious Surrector's pulse and temperature, before frowning and adding more pinches to the vessel. Thayndor Zahir looks from Dalayna's neat pile of cloaks, to Aylora's form. He reaches for one of the cloaks and offers it to Aylora ... "Here, Cousin - and I'm sure we can find some clothes from the lady Deepers to suit you on the morrow," he explains, then nods to Fionn. "We'll see about having him keep Sundust and Denson company in my stables, then.' Gell Mikin slowly opens his unswollen eye, his mouth cracking open but not fully. It too is burned and swollen on one side. He makes a sound, but it's not all that intelligible. His right hand twitches a little. His left arm is immobile, motionless, burned severely. Aylora nods gratefully first handing her bag to Fionnlagh then wrapping the cloak carefully about her. "Thank you m'lords," she murmurs. Sensing movement from the Surrector she glances over to him concerned. She takes a few steps toward him then glances at Dalayna. "Are you sure you can manage?" Dalayna grabs a white cloth from her pile, dips it in a vessel of water and gently moistens the surrector's lips, before dripping a little in his mouth. Not even looking up from her charge she replies "Aye my lady. My timing may be bad but my skills are at least passing. We shall see him through this." Fionnlagh accepts the bag, and glances at Gell a moment, pursing his lips. As Dalayna assures Aylora, however, he steps on out, moving to retrieve his horse. Jirand Zahir stands back and to the side, adjusting a stray piece of hair, watching as people go about their business. As he came late upon the scene outside, after the injuries had already been sustained, he is full of questions that he does not ask. There will obviously be a better time later for such things. Thayndor Zahir nods to Jirand. "Come with me, cousin - help me see cousin Aylora and the forester to Darkwater." He then moves outside briskly. After slurping miserably at the water provided by Daylana, the Surrector finally manages to rasp something intelligible through his burned lips: "Zol...Zir..." Dalayna shakes her head. "Dunna speak my lord. I know not what happened to your companions, but I shall try to find out." The young girl carefully lays a cool cloth on the surrector's forhead. "Ye have a very bad burn, which means you could well get horridly ill if you dunna let your worries go for a bit and /sleep/." "Zol...*knows*..." Gell Mikin manages feebly, putting the burned palm of his right hand on Daylana's arm before he passes out once more. The hand falls away, thumping on the floor next to his cot. Dalayna frowns, and looks around, for the first time realizing that everyone consious has left her. "I canna risk leavin ye my Lord, but I shall try to pass your word on as soon as possible." She speaks even though the surrector is obviously beyond consciousness. The young girl adds water to the vessel containing the various powders and begins applying the gel to the burned palm nearest to her. Category:Logs